Back to Basics: The 183rd Hunger Games
by MyNameIsJT
Summary: After the success of last year's Games, President Forest wants to raise the stakes. She's made sure that this year, the tributes will be required to have both brains and brawns. She has designed them to push the tributes where they've never been pushed before.
1. Elementary, My Dear Trinity

**President Forest's POV**

I am the first woman to ever be President of Panem. This is my second year in that position. And I plan on using it for all that it is worth.

I am sitting at my desk. It is a great mahogany desk that has been used by every President that Panem has ever had. There is a woman sitting across from me. She is one of the few people whom I don't feel like brutally killing. This is lucky for her. What's lucky for me is the fact that the next Hunger Games were to be commencing soon. The part of me that constantly thirsted for blood was finally about to be satiated.

"Now, Trinity." I say to my gamemaker. "You know how impressed I was and am by last year's Games-"

"Yes. And I thank you for that,"

"Well, they were amazing. I'm not denying that. But I have a little idea for this year's. I want to do something a bit different then what we've been doing,"

"And what would that be, Ma'am?"

"You know how they say that less is more?"

"Um, no. I've never heard that before."

"Oh, well they say it more in the districts than they do here."

"Ah, that makes sense."

"Anyway, I want this to be a simple Games."

"S… simple?" I see her tilt her head in confusion.

"Yes. Simple. I want a plain, mundane arena. This year, I want the tributes to fight each other, not us,"

I see understanding flash across her face as she smiles. "I can do that. But, what do you mean about them not fighting us?"

"What I mean is that I want this to be a Games where nearly every tribute dies at the hands of another. I don't want more than a couple natural, or not so natural deaths." She nods her head in comprehension. "Though, I do as always reserve the right to kill off whoever annoys me."

"But of course! It wouldn't be a proper Games without that," I can see her beginning to get excited about this year's games.

"So, just to make sure I'm clear, Trinity, I need this arena to be as uncomplicated as possible. I need there to be enough food so that most of them can survive long enough to be killed. I need the mutts to be kept to a minimum. But I need to tension maximized. Can you do that for me?"

She stares into space for a moment to gather her thoughts and then she replies, "Of course I can. Leave it to me. I think I know exactly what to do,"

"Good. Very good. Now, please, get out."

She does as I say and leaves. I am alone again. I look outside of my window and watch the crowds of Capitol citizens hustle and bustle about. They all think they're something important. If only I could show them that I have the power to squash them as easily as I do the tributes from the districts. Alas, I cannot do so without being put under the threat of a rebellion. No, to keep my power I would have to leave them be.

I can feel my heart start to race in anticipation for the Games. These are going to be good. Not only good, but some of the best ever. I'll make sure of it. Though, I must admit that I do wonder what Trinity has in mind. There are many different ways that she could make a basic arena. After all, she has anything money can buy at her disposal. After what she did with last year's Games, I have no doubt that she'll be able to pull these off fabulously. Even so, my mind races with curiosity at what she is planning. I suppose I will just have to wait. But waiting would make me like the common ones. And that was something I certainly would not stand for.

No, I will make sure I know the moment Trinity is finished with the plans. I must know as soon as possible. In fact, I must know now.

I ring for my secretary. "Yes, Madame President?" she inquires as she walks into my office.

"Retrieve Trinity for me."

"Right away, Madame,"

I turn back to the window. I can't help but thinking about how meaningless all of those common folks' lives were. All they did was modify their bodies in as many different ways as possible, spend lavishly on unnecessary material goods, and gossip about what everyone else is doing and buying. What a pitiful life.

"Yes?" Trinity asks from behind me.

"Are you done yet?" I ask as I turn to face her.

"Well, no. There's still lots to be-"

"When will you be done?"

"Well, it's, uh, hard to say exactly."

"Tell me everything that you have in mind. I want to know it all. I want to know now."

My mind reels as she tells me her plans for the arena. Her ideas are magnificent as always. Being temporarily at ease, I dismiss her. I turn to my mirror and peer inside. My blonde/gray hair is cropped short, as always. I hate to deal with it, so the shorter it is, the better. The skin on my face is beginning to sag from my age and the stress of this job. Though they've offered, I vehemently refuse to have any surgery done to make my face young again. I will not have the mind and soul of a 55-year-old woman with the face of a 20-year-old. I see my pale, gray eyes staring back at me. There are bags underneath them and they give off a rather pensive look. I suppose it comes with the territory though.

I turn away from the mirror and sit at my desk. As I begin to sort through the paperwork I have on it, I can't stop thinking about this year's Games. I simply cannot wait to see the blood of 23 children spilled all over my arena. Just that thought alone warms my heart.

**Hey, everyone. So here's the first chapter of my first fic. I'm working on writing the Reapings right now and I will probably upload them 2-3 at a time. The first batch should be up in a couple of days.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Hunger Games. All Hunger Games related material belongs to Suzanne Collins. These are my original characters however the setting and premise are those of Suzanne Collins. **

******This story is rated T for mild language, sexual situations, and violence.**


	2. District One Reaping

**District One Reaping**

**Sash's POV**

I had been laying awake in bed for the past couple of hours. My mind refused to shut off. All I could think about was the Reaping today. That's the only thing that's crossed my mind for the past couple of days. And now here it is.

In a couple of hours I will stand in the Square wearing my best dress and hoping that I would not be Reaped. Until then, though, there are some things that I need to do.

The first of those things is to get out of bed. I can barely manage to do so. I make my way to my bathroom which I'm so fortunate is connected to my room. That makes sure that I don't have a long walk in the morning, and it also means that I don't have to share it with my brother. I mean, I love the kid, but he's a slob.

I turn on the shower. Maybe the warm water will calm my nerves. I don't know why I'm like this. Most District One girls would love to be Reaped. Most of them train for the Games for their whole lives. I haven't actually trained. Like everyone else, I've watched the Games, but I haven't studied them. I don't get too much physical exercise. My body can attest to that.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not fat. But I'm by no means the stick-thin girl that District One usually has. I'm not blonde either. Nor am I a Career tribute.

As I jump into the shower I think the thoughts that I think every year on Reaping Day. _It won't be me. My name is only in there _ times. _(The number changes every year. This year it's seven) _Even if I do get picked, which won't happen, someone will volunteer for me. I'll be fine. Come on, Sash. You need to calm down._

I run my hands through my long, dark hair. I massage my head with the shampoo in hopes that it'll help calm me. It doesn't. My face tingles with the citrus scrub that I use to wash it. My very favorite face wash, and not even that helps me feel even marginally better. I try using my favorite body wash, the one I get for my birthday every year. It has the scent of pine needles. It reminds me of all of the outlying districts that I'll never get the chance to visit. As I lather my body with it, I inhale its intoxicating scent. It comes from District Eleven, I think. I'm not sure though, seeing as I've never been there. And I never will.

I get out of the shower and bundle myself in a towel. I wrap my hair in another one. As I sit down in front of my mirror, I grab my makeup. I prefer it to be subtle rather than obvious like so many of my peers do. I put on some black mascara to elongate my eyelashes. I put some eye shadow on. I've mastered the technique by now. It's just light enough to be barely noticeable yet dark enough to give off the smokey appearance. I use some light, neutral lipstick and I'm done with my makeup.

My skin is fine as it is. I don't need cover-up or blush and of that other stuff. My skin is fair, but not nearly white as so many other District One girls' are.

I walk to my closet and immediately pick out my dress. It's the dress I wear every year to the Reaping. Well, it's not the same dress seeing as I've grown a bit since I was twelve, but it's pretty much the same style. A simple black dress that stops just above the knee. It's not tight. In fact, it's rather loose compared to how the other girls dress. It hides my muffin-top well. I select a pair of black flats to wear with it. I don't need heels. I'm tall enough as is.

Having finished everything I need to do in my room, I head downstairs. Along the way, I knock on my brother's door.

"Hey, Grant. You up?"

I hear no reply, so I slowly open his door. He's still asleep. I walk over to his bed and sit down next to him. I comb through his messy, thick hair with my fingers. I give him a kiss on the cheek and whisper in his ear, "Grant, sweetie. It's time to get up." This is his first Reaping. I don't even allow myself to think that he may be Reaped. It just won't happen.

I see him stir a bit, but he's still very much asleep. _Okay, Grant. I didn't want to have to do this._ I walk to his bathroom and grab a cup. I fill it with cold water. As I walk back into his room I notice the mess. His clothes are all over the floor. There's barely any floor to walk on. "This is for the mess," I say as I pour the water over his head.

He awakes with a start, "What the-"

"It's okay, Grant. It's Reaping Day. You need to get up." I tell him to wear his best clothes. Realizing that he has no idea what those might be, I go to his closet and pick them out for him. Boys are so clueless. I throw him a pair of black slacks and a pink, silk shirt. "Here. Take a shower and put these on. And make sure to wear your nice shoes, not the beaten up sneakers you usually wear. Got it?"

"Ew, pink." is the only thing he says in response.

"It'll make your eyes stand out. Now go," I say with the kindness and sharpness that only a big sister could possibly manage.

He walks to the bathroom and I head downstairs. My parents aren't there. They're probably trying to finish up work before the Reaping starts. My parents work as jewelers at a friend's store. My father is given the raw gemstones. He cuts them and my mom sells them to the countless women who spend more on a couple of jewels than some families do on food for a month.

We're not by any means rich, but we're definitely not poor. We don't have a chef to cook our meals, but we've never gone hunger either. I'm the main cook for the family. I walk to the kitchen and turn on the stove. I know what Grant wants, so I put out three pans. One for the eggs, scrambled of course, another for the hash browns, and the final one for the sausage. I then put four slices of bread in the toaster. Three will be for him and one for me. Though I may have sixty plus pounds on his scrawny ass, he can still out-eat me any day. Such is the nature of boys, I suppose.

Grant walks in just as I'm finishing breakfast. He has his outfit on all wrong. His tie is not only down to his thighs, but it's also green. What in the world would possess him to believe that green goes with pink? I'll have to redress him after breakfast.

We sit down at the table after I put the food on it. He digs in immediately. I prefer to eat slowly. Though I can't eat much seeing as it's Reaping Day. I don't think Grant fully understands what the Reaping is. He knows about the Hunger Games, but I don't think he gets that it could be one of us in them.

After we finish eating I tell him, "Grant. Come with me. We need to fix you up. You obviously do not know how to put on or pick out a tie. And your hair is a disaster." He knows better than to fight me on it, so he acquiesces and walks with me to his room. I pick out a light purple tie. "See, Sweetie," I say as hold it up to him. "Purple goes with pink. _Green_ does not,"

He shoots me look as if to say, "And I care why?" After I change his ties and make sure his new one only comes down to his waist, I guide him to his bathroom. Once inside, I turn on the water in the sink and wet my hands. As I'm combing my fingers through his hair I comment about how his hair always seems to be messy no matter what I do to it. After about five minutes of attempting to tame it, I give up. If only he would just cut it this would be so much easier.

Finally, I think we're ready. We walk downstairs and head out the door toward the Square. My nerves begin to go haywire again. I try talking to Grant to distract myself, but he isn't up for conversation right now.

At last we reach the Square. I tell him to head over to the twelve-year-old's section after we check in. I walk over to the seventeen-year-old's section. After a couple of minutes of anxious waiting, a man walks onto the stage. _That's odd_, I think to myself. _Usually it's that creepy woman with tye-dye skin._ The man is wearing a black suit with a pink shirt and, get this, a green bowtie. I silently hope Grant now understands how ridiculous it looks. If a Capitol person is wearing it, it's a good indication that it's not fashionable.

I tune out his obligatory speech about how the Hunger Games are our punishment and the other stuff. After he's finished, he says that it's time to select the female tribute. My heart is racing. I feel as if it's about to leap into my throat and force its way out through my mouth. I can picture myself standing up there with my still-beating heart bouncing across the stage.

He pulls the name.

"Andrea Presley!"

I see the girl slowly walk up to the stage. I don't know what it is. It might be that she's the daughter of my parents' employers. It might be that she's only twelve years old. It might be that her dark, short-cropped, messy hair reminds me of my brother. It might be because I know that if I win, I'll finally be able to visit the other districts. Maybe it's because I'm so bored here that anything would be a welcome change. It may be because I know that there's only one way to get over my fears. It may be because I don't want to have to live through another Reaping. Whatever the reason, though, at that moment something inside of me snapped. At that moment I raised my voice to yell the words I swore I would never utter. "I volunteer as tribute!"

I see Andrea stop just as she is about to step up to the stage. "It appears we have a volunteer," the Capitol man says. "You can go back, dear," Andrea slowly walks back to her section and gives me a look of gratitude as we pass each other on my way to the stage.

I mount the stage and the Capitol man asks me my name. "Sash Vespa," I respond. He smiles and presents me to the crowd. There is a mild applause. They're all confused; I can tell. The man then announces that it is time to choose the boy tribute.

He pulls the piece of paper out of the bowl. Then he reads the name. And that's when I faint.

**Tourmaline's POV**

I hear the name for the male tribute announced. It wouldn't have mattered to me if it was any other name. But it had to be that name.

"Grant Vespa!"

The name belongs to the brother of the girl who volunteered. The girl's twelve-year-old brother. The girl who just fainted on stage. The girl I've been in love with for nearly ten years.

Without a second thought I scream out the words that will surely end my life. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Little Grant doesn't even have time to leave his section before I volunteer in his place. I proudly walk up to the stage thinking that if I seem like I know what I'm doing the other tributes might believe me to be a Career.

As I walk onto the stage I see the Peacekeepers holding up the unconscious body of Sash. They say she'll be coming around soon. They still make me shake hands with her even though she can't feel a thing. Even if she could, she'd think I'm her brother.

I shake her lifeless hand. This is the first time I've ever touched her body. The first time I ever touch her is when she's unconscious. How creepy does that make me? Very, I'm thinking.

And with that, they take us to the Justice Building. They place me in a holding room. _Why did I do this to myself?_ I think. I plop down onto a chair and place my head in my hands. I'm not going to make it out alive. I just know I'm not going to. But at least little Grant will. And I'm going to do everything possible to ensure that Sash does to. I can guarantee that I will if it's the last thing I do. The sad part is that it _will_ be the last thing I do.

Nobody comes to see me off. My mother is working and father probably just doesn't care. Why should he? I'm just his stupid, fat, useless kid. I've never once in my entire life done anything right. I've never been good enough for him. I'm so much less important than my siblings. Apple is a useful model for the new items that their store has. Merrick is a strong, well-muscled guy who can dig and carry the stones and whatnot for the jewels. Rickey is the brains of the family, and Andrea is at least cute. I'm so incredibly thankful that Sash volunteered for her. I guess it's a morbid kind of irony that she volunteered for my sister and I volunteered for her brother.

But none of that matters. I'm nothing. My parents gave me a special name because they thought that it would make me special. It didn't. All I am is a sad, pathetic, little boy who can't even manage to evoke enough sympathy from his eminent death to get his own flesh and blood to say goodbye.

I'm not allowed to wallow in my misery for long. The Capitol people come into my room and tell me that it's time to board the train. I suppose I have no choice now. Not that it matters anymore. All that matters is keeping Sash safe. I'll be glad when I'm dead and don't have to deal with this cruel world any longer.

**So, I'm going to be out of town for 4 days and I wanted to post this before I left. Let me know what you think. I'll probably have District Two and Three ready in a week or so.**


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